


Live Underground Podcast

by Askell



Category: Fallout: New Vegas, Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Courier 66!Jim Kirk, DoA!Bones, Fallout NV AU - Freeform, Flirting, Fluff, Getting to Know Each Other, Humor, M/M, Romance, Sarcasm, Slow Burn, Talking over the radio, tw: implied past abuse, tw: mentions of prostitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-09 15:41:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12891129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Askell/pseuds/Askell
Summary: The Disciples of the Apocalypse have lost contact with Bernie Five-Fingers, a genius surgeon gone exploring the half-collapsed tunnels of a rumored secret lab. While Bones is unable to go back himself, he's assigned to navigate the mysterious Courier 66 through the maze via radio.(PS: You don't really need to know Fallout to understand.)





	1. Dammit, I'm a doctor, not a radio operator!

**Author's Note:**

> Recently, I've been playing Fallout NV and absolutely loving it. So I thought, why not mixing two of my favorite universes in a big, humorous, cynical, fluffy and angsty mess? I've listed it as mature for the themes, language, violence and eventual smut, but I'll update my tags if it's the case. 
> 
> Two things you can be sure will happen: twisted humor, and Spock. 
> 
> If you love 1000% done with Everything and Everyone Bones, enthusiastic wanderer Jim and shameless flirt, this is definitely for you. Also, yes, Bernie sounds like the horrifying idea of Morty's grandpa and Doc Brown having a child. With that wonderful image in mind, I leave you to the actual thing.
> 
> I don't own the original material, etc. Please leave a comment, they're the Stimpacks of my day <3

Sitting in front of the rusty radio, the man boiled with anger. They almost had to strap him to his chair to keep him from coming back. Bernie… despite missing one ring finger on each hand, he was the best surgeon they’d ever had. Batshit crazy, hopeless lunatic, drug-addicted, but the best still. 

One day he had risen up with the full force of a frag mine, his white hair looking somehow even more tousled than usual. He’d waved a holodisk around, shouting and dancing ignoring the insults from his fellow Disciples. Being up at dawn was already hard enough. His alcohol-stained prewar lab coat flapped in the wind like a flag of the catastrophe to come. 

Bones had been the unfortunate half-awake audience the surgeon needed. He’d sit the poor bloke and told him with great grand gestures and half a bottle of whisky about his latest discovery. One of his equally as insane friends had found the journal entry on a ghoul while wandering around, and from then Bernie Five-Fingers had been unable to stay in place for one goddamn second. 

A burning, almost clean, cup of their homemade ‘coffee’ in hand, the doctor had listened to his ramblings for a solid ten minutes before his brain was able to understand specific words. Something about rare technologies, a secret lab at the end of some collapsed tunnels. 

“Bones,” he said in that chem-roughened voice of his, both hand on the younger man’s shoulders and too close for comfort. “Bones. Kid, you must come with me. If we find this, uugh, what’s it the word come on help me… ah! the _technologies_ , we can help those poor souls. You’re a good kid, kid. We have to go together! You have a gun, I have. I have a gun too I think? See, perfect match!”

“Get off of me,” growled Bones, shoving him away while trying not to spill his cup. “I aint getting my ass perforated by deathclaws for fairytales.”

“I’ll give you my most prised possession!”

“Not interested in your only pair of clean briefs, sorry.”

“Well, uuuugh. _Dammit he’s a tough bargainer isn’t he._ I have caps! … I think? But I can pay you in something far more precious!”

“If you say ‘intellectual satisfaction’-”

“Intellectual satisfaction!”

The doctor rolled his eyes, downing the dark sludge in one gulp. It looked like refined brahmine turd, smelled like fried circuits, and was surprisingly only made with cacti. Or so he thought. They’d never actually shown him the process… and it was probably for the best if he ignored the exact recipe. Life at the old mormon fort wasn’t always easy, but it had its perks. Even if he still thought the name was stupid.  
It was a surprise when, a few hours after he had started examining the local drunks, Farkas ordered him to follow Bernie Five-Fingers on his insane quest. Being the only one knowing his way around a terminal (and a gun, except most people didn’t know it), he and a young guard named Pavel found their way at the entrance of a hole in the ground.

Supposedly, the entrance of an underground lab, recently discovered by some idiot toying around with land mines. Bits of said idiot still appeared in-between the shattered stones, though most of the meat had already been claimed. Bones preferred to convince himself animals had scavenged the parts, but he perfectly knew what hunger could convince people to do. Or drugs.

From then, not a single second passed without him regretting his choice. First, he had been shot in the arm while working on disabling the security, a large burnt slash on his skin and through his favorite vest. The story behind it was one of gratitude, not of violence like most people assumed. The meaning of the star insignia above his heart was lost to history, but he liked to tell children it made him ‘Chief Medical Officer’ of a starship. The adults who knew the old podcast shook their heads with a knowing smile.

After that, a tunnel full of gas had him fearing for his life, a bunch of luminescents for radioactive poisoning, and finally Pavel sprained his ankle while overwhelmed by oversized rats. 

The last thing he remembered before the explosion was Bernie jumping in place and yelling that the ‘treasure’ was behind the door. It may have been true, or it may have been the giant X painted on it with something not looking like paint. Either way, he woke up back at the fort with one arm searing in pain, a bloody bandage on the leg he almost couldn’t feel anymore and a new scar splitting his favorite eyebrow in half. 

Julie had refused his request to go back. Not that he could really argue with her, seeing that climbing the stairs had him feeling like he was going to die. He actually fainted just after that. In the time it had taken him to be able to sit without his brain giving up to the pain, the Disciples had sent another guy. 

And now Bones had to navigate him through the tunnels via radio. Not like he was much use to anyone anyway, with his right arm still healing. The only thing he knew about the cannon fodder was that he was young, hot-headed, suspiciously helpful, and apparently suicidal. 

He didn’t know what he expected from their first contact, but certainly not a smooth voice singing along with the radio.


	2. Run, boy, run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mention of prostitution, bad language, violence. 
> 
> Title is from Woodkid's Run Boy Run song (I like it, it makes me think of AOS Jim). 
> 
> Bones says he doesn't care, caringly, as he deeply cares. Jim acts like me as a Fallout player: over powered, cocky, secretly loves the lore, a Nerd. Both of their pasts will be explored more deeply in the following chapters, so stay tuned for more underground adventures. 
> 
> I don't own the original material etc. Comments make me blush and jump in place, so don't hesitate.

Static should have ruined the song, but it didn’t. The youthful, sensual voice kept going on, often messing up the lyrics but never faltering. In the background, the continuous buzz of an energy weapon of some kind rivaled with the careless, heavy steps. This idiot had absolutely no sense of discretion whatsoever.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Bones tried not to yell at the Courier over the radio, which would have definitely ruined his poor cover. When the song stopped, a strong rush of wind made the transmitter hiss and crash like some kind of feral beast. So he hadn’t gone underground yet, hence the lack of care. 

“Someone over there?” the young voice asked suddenly, sounding far more relaxed and joyful than he should have. Was he high? “I’m at the meeting point, there’s no one.”

“Downstairs, I’m in the locked room to the right. Don’t come in, it’s useless. Just go straight and you’ll find the door of the bunker.”

“Oh, a guy then. Farkas only told me your name… is that your real name?”

“Look, I’d rather be at the fort with my patients so the sooner you’re done the sooner I can go back.”

“Jeez, someone’s grumpy.” There were a few more heavy steps echoing on the rusty iron corridors. The songs had stopped, but not the humming. 

“Can’t you at least try not to warn the entire Mojave of your presence?!” snapped the doctor, ready to jump out of his chair to strangle the dimwit.

“I’m wearing a power armor and there’s a laser rifle strapped to my back, can’t exactly help it Mr. Bones. Are you a ghoul, by the way? You sound like a ghoul. No offense, I have excellent ghoul friends.”

“Shut the hell up. Unless it’s important I don’t want to hear you again. Are you at the fucking door now?”

The pain in his leg was putting him on edge, as well as the carefree attitude of the Courier. Tightening the loose garrot he had put in place before sitting down, he then injected himself with a Stimpack. The initial tingle quickly dissipated as the medicine started acting. He was almost tempted to inject himself with something more powerful, but he didn’t have a huge provision of chems available. Those should be kept for emergencies only.

Noting that the other man had stayed eerily silent during the whole procedure, Bones wondered if he had shut off his radio. It wasn’t exactly like he could leave the kid down there, and Julie didn’t have the personnel to check on their progression regularly, so he wondered in which case going back to the surface without strong proofs of failure would be acceptable. Still hearing the faint sound of the rifle, the doctor deduced he must have found a way to walk silently. Finally. 

“I’m at the door.” Informed the Courier curtly. “It won’t open, though.”

“Is there still a corridor to your left? There’s been an explosion so I’m not sure what’s still holding up.” 

Bones wondered if he should apologize for his lack of manners. After all, the kid was risking his life for complete strangers, without any insurance that he would get something out of it. If they were right, the technologies couldn’t be sold to anyone as only doctors could operate them. That is, if Bernie had been correct about anything. Or if they hadn’t been destroyed.

“Found a terminal, what’s the password?”

“'Acceptations'. It’s not my real name, by the way,” answered Bones, as close as he would get to extending the olive branch.

“Doesn’t work, I guess the security has been rebooted. I’ll hack that lil bitch. What’s your real name?”

“How about I tell you if you survive to level 2?”

Rapid keyboard sounds in the background informed him that the other man had started his work. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as he’d thought…

“I always love a good bet,” said the Courier with an audible smile. “What’s in it for you though? If I survive, that is, if I don’t you can have my stuff since it won’t help me wherever I'll go.”

“Except from hurrying the hell up-” he heard the younger man’s first attempt being denied by the terminal. “There’s nothing I’d want from you, kid.”

“Many people paid good money to get something from me, I’ll have you know. A few years ago I was New Vegas’ number one whore,” he chuckled humorlessly. A second attempt was denied.

There was something dark, under that layer of easy-go-lucky banter. The doctor had seen more than of his fair share of trauma, and humor was only one of the ways his patients had found to cope. Or to hide. He suddenly felt a wave of sympathy for the kid.

“I’ll pass, thanks. If you really want to bet, do you have a bottle of Nuka Cola or anything like that? It’s been ages since I last found one,” he offered, deciding to play along.

“Found a Quantum one last week, it’ll make one hell of a wager. Let’s say you can have it if I- _Hell yeah take that motherfucker!_ Not you, the machine. I think I opened the door.”

Rapid steps echoed over the radio, slow and steady breath indicating someone used to run long distances without breaking a sweat. Having never really moved from Freeside except for some rare errands, Bones couldn’t help but speculate what kind of fucked up world Couriers could see along their careers. He really doubted there were any wonders left on Earth besides, perhaps, life. 

The wanderer groaned and cursed, describing in very colorful images how tight the entrance was due to a cinder block keeping the doors from opening fully. The doctor actually found himself grinning along, teasing the younger man for his language. The light-hearted chuckle he got in return was as unexpected as it was pleasant. 

“I’m in,” panted the Courier a few minutes after that. “You’ll have to stop calling me Sixty-Six, by the way. Or Courier. It’s too impersonal.”

“What makes you think I don’t want to keep things that way?” Bones smirked, fully conscious that though the other man couldn’t see him, he could hear the tease in his voice. The Stimpak had made him a little light-headed, he thought. It wasn’t usual for him to practice small talk with strangers. Or with friends. Or with anyone, truly. 

“I’ll eventually find out what name is so lame that you prefer to use a badass moniker, so we can say things are pretty personal already, _Bones_ ,” the man all but purred. 

“The hell is a ‘moniker’?”

“A nickname. I’ve read that in a prewar book, it’s pretty so I kept it. I’m Jim T. Kirk, by the way.”

“That’s a mighty long name for a kid-” started to mock Bones when he heard the other man swear under his breath, and then the telltale explosions of a combat. 

A robotic voice muffled something, probably inside of Jim’s armor because the doctor couldn’t make out specific words. He could, however, hear the disgustingly wet sounds of torn up matter. He’d seen the damages of laser shots once or twice in his life, they did not only burn, they also boiled the skin and internal organs to the point of explosion. From the screeches he still managed to distinguish in the auditive chaos, their former visit had awakened the empty ant hills they had seen. His chest clenching at how utterly powerless he felt, Bones waited for the combat to calm down before he inquired about his health. 

“That’s adorable but I’m fine. Giant ants, more like small fry. Once I accidentally stepped in a bark scorpion’s nest -which I’m allergic to, by the way- and I can tell you _that_ was something else.”

His apparent swagger could have fooled anyone but a doctor with twenty years of practice to his ticket. Sighing heavily and forcing his eyes not to roll in his skull, he said:

“You’re hurt.” Not a question, a certainty. 

“No I’m - _shit_. Gotta run!”

After that, a sizzling sound, static and finally silence were the last things Bones heard from him.


	3. Flooded

3 hours, 44 minutes, a couple seconds. Still no answer. 

Bones itched to get up and check on the kid by himself, but he knew better. If a Courier with an alleged power armor and a laser rifle couldn’t go as far as the security room, what could his old broken bones do? He kept regularly calling in the jagged microphone, in the vain hopes that there was still someone listening. After all, no communications at all could simply mean that his own radio had been damaged. If Jim was dead, Bones thought, he’d keep hearing the noises around him. 

The Stimpak’s effects were starting to wear off. His younger idiot self had built a resistance to them, being convinced that knowing how to synthesize them meant he could use them without counting. Julie refused him to access his own medical file, but he knew he most likely would never walk without a cane again. Could have been worse, Pavel had lost a hand. 

To find someone in one piece, physically and emotionally, was almost impossible in the Mojave. Dancing before his eyes, the image of the man who had raised him floated for a moment. Bones promised himself he would visit once this whole mess was finished.

“-nes…”

His head rested on something warm, his arm or the table itself he couldn’t have said. He didn’t want to wake up, memories of the small house surrounding him like a blanket.

“aband-... me, I swear I-...” crackled a pained voice next to his ear. 

Jumping from his slumber, Bones quickly fiddled with the settings until Jim’s voice echoed clearly from the transmitter. A wave of relief washed over him.

“Jim,” he breathed. “Are you alright?”

“I think. How long was I out?”

“Four hours. What happened?”

“I don’t know, there was a magnetic wave or something which messed up my pip-boy, I couldn’t access anything.” Jim suspended his train of thought for a moment, then, “You stayed for me.”

Ignoring the hopeful tone which almost transformed the sentence in a question, Bones grunted and crossed his arms, giving him his best unimpressed eyebrow trick before remembering that he couldn’t see it. 

“Yeah, well, I guess most people would say you would have done the same.”

“You don’t know me, maybe I’m an asshole who eats people in their sleep.”

“Maybe you’re just a kid who helps, there’s no way for me to know.”

A light chuckle answered him, followed by the usual hiss of someone with cracked ribs.

“You could find out around a drink,” Jim still proposed, his tone seductive, most likely as a joke. “Just how old do you think I am, by the way?” 

In the background, the doctor heard metallic clinks and guessed Jim was repairing something, or lockpicking something. He didn’t remember any sort of inundated tunnel, but the various wet sounds informed him that the explosion from his visit must have ruptured a pipe. 

“Around 20?” he guessed, assuming that someone who seemed to ignore the Wasteland’s unofficial rules must have not been around for long. “Maybe younger, you seem very reckless to me.”

This time, a hearty laugh answered him, deep and warm. Every single robot and creature must have heard him, and yet the man didn’t stop until he apparently exhausted his hilarity. The occasional pained groans from his definitely cracked ribs made him sound a little manic. At some point, a soft click announced that whatever he was tinkering had been opened. 

“I’m more or less 33, give or take two years,” he explained, sounding oddly cheerful in his situation. “I guess compared to you it’s still very young, though.”

Most people didn’t know their real age in the Mojave, the approximation did not surprise Bones. Himself was lucky enough to know the exact date, but a vast majority of the population didn’t.

“I’m 37, you idiot.”

“Holy shit, should I call you Sir or Daddy?”

The doctor rolled his eyes and insulted him for good measure, but Jim’s laugh was contagious. They kept bantering back and forth while the Courier occasionally described his situation and asked for guidance. The loud moan the younger man exhaled when he found a stash of medical supplies to cure his ribs made Bones’ cheeks turn bright red, but that didn’t stop him from scolding Jim. Who, in turn, found it absolutely hilarious to describe his actions in a _pornographic_ voice, until the doctor threatened to cut all contact. 

“What do you look like?” asked Jim, his voice tight from focusing on hitting the sentinel above him. 

“Why do you care?” answered Bones, now used to the other man’s impossible multitasking. 

“Well, I don’t think you’re a ghoul and I don’t know your name but that’s pretty much all,” he panted, a loud explosion indicating he managed to hit the bull’s eye. “You’ve got a nice voice, when you’re not yelling at me.”

“You deserve to be yelled at. Also I think you’ve missed the turn, it’s been too long.”

“No I’ve seen it but I tried to force the other door’s lock, which broke. My heart is in pain at the thought of you hating me that much,” whined Jim dramatically, a giggle at the end ruining the effect.

“I don’t hate you, I just think you’re slightly under Supermutants when it comes to brain size. Is there a big red valve somewhere?”

“Yes, what do I do with it? Have I told you that I actually don’t have a brain anymore? Long story short it’s waiting for me in the Big Empty. I named him Chris.”

“Sure explains a lot,” groaned the doctor, rolling his eyes hard in his skull. “Turn it to the left three times, try not to break it.”

Clonk.

“I broke it.”

“Dammit, Jim! Run to the door, try to seal it with whatever clothes you have, there’s gonna be gas everywhere.”

He heard a series of muffled curses, hisses, scratches and pants before a loud bang resonated. Feeling the blood draining from his face, breath caught in his lungs, the doctor waited for the static to clear, worry clenching his gut. A small part of what was left of his rationality wondered why he even cared about the Courier, who had been nothing but cocky and annoying since they first 'met'. He decided to account it on his doctor's instinct to consider every human life valuable. Digging deeper than that was dangerous.

"Phew, that was a big one," cheerfully commented Jim. "I've never been so glad to have annoyed the Brotherhood into giving me this armor, haha. Also, you still havent answered me."

"I'm about as ugly as you probably are. Is annoying people into making them give you what you want your strategy for everything?" grunted Bones, hiding how relieved he felt. 

"Damn, yes it is. Also, I've been told I have the prettiest cocksucking face in the Strip so you should be proud to be as ugly as me," Jim bragged, the sharp edge of his previous jokes once again back in his tone.

"I'm sorry," said Bones sincerely, certain that the younger man would understand. 

Some people considered it better than starving. Some children had no other choice. Whatever his story, the Courier stopped talking after that, the random noises and curses around him informing the doctor of his progression. Apparently the main access to level two was entirely flooded, forcing him to follow another path. Thankfully, the ants had dug a whole series of subterranean galleries linking the main section to the emergency stairs. 

A few minutes and apparently a bunch of critters later, a long yawn came to Bones’ ears. He couldn’t help mirroring it, the realization that he had been sitting in front of his transmitter for close to six hours downing on him. 

“Tired, my dear doctor?” mocked Jim, his voice soft with exhaustion.

“Not as much as you, I can hear you wheezing like an old brahmine.”

“It’s not my fault if half of the level is collapsed and I had to crawl through literally everything.”

“ _Crawl out through the fallout, baby…_ ” Bones started to sing mockingly.

Ever since he’d gone underground he had stopped humming, but this was definitely the song which Jim had butchered above the surface. The younger man didn’t answer immediately, an awkward silence stretching between them. Feeling himself starting to freak out, the doctor was about to abruptly change the subject when Jim’s sweet voice answered him.

“You’ve really got a nice voice,” he commented without a single trace of mockery. “Anyway, I’ve found a locker which looks kind of safe, I think I’ll take a nap here. You should go too, talk to you in a few hours. Good night, Bones.”

Ignoring the warm feeling spreading in his chest, the doctor coughed and bid him a good night as well, out of habit. A nap in a locker surrounded by security machines, mutant insects and who knows what else could never be considered “good”. Just before he rose up to his own tattered mattress, Bones hesitantly pressed the ‘speak’ button.

“Jim?”

“Hmm?”

“Leave your radio open, I want to hear you.”

A soft giggle answered him, but he fell asleep lulled by the regular breaths of the other man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed, stay tuned for more awkward flirt while atomizing mutant critters! S.P.O.C.K. should also make an apparition around level 3, but I won't reveal more than that ;)


End file.
